


Ireland is Where the Heart's at

by Winterbaby89



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan Movie Marathon Event (Once Upon a Time), Developing Friendships, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Leap Year the movie, Light Angst, Slow Burn, travelling hijinks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26667850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterbaby89/pseuds/Winterbaby89
Summary: Summary: When Emma’s four year anniversary comes and goes without an engagement ring she decides to take matters into her own hands. When she follows her beau to Dublin and ends up on the wrong side of Ireland, she has to rely on a surly local to help her get across the country before her deadline.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan, Huntsman | Sheriff Graham/Emma Swan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28
Collections: Captain Swan Movie Marathon





	Ireland is Where the Heart's at

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is my offering for the CSMM. This is my version/retelling of the movie Leap Year. I believe this fic will be four parts, but time will tell as I continue to work on it. I can’t guarantee a regular updating schedule, as I continue to work on this fic and my other WIP’s around real life. I hope you all enjoy this ride with me. Art from the lovely Kmomof4 over on Tumblr. The art posted here was made by the ever lovely Teamhook.

* * *

* * *

Emma’s sitting on a barstool in the dirty, dingy pub her dad has picked out, waiting for him to show up, because naturally _he’s late_. As she’s sitting there, she thinks back to the apartment she staged this morning; she feels a sense of pride in her work, and is delighted to know that multiple offers have already been submitted. 

Thinking about the interview she and Graham had over lunch with the admitting board to the Prestigious Davenport Apartments, there is a very good feeling about their chances lodged in her chest like a beacon of hope because she has lived in Boston her entire life, and has always dreamed of living there. Thankfully, she has found somebody who shares that dream and as she had assured the board earlier, they will not find two people more in sync with their exceptionally high standards. 

An incoming call from Ruby pulls her from her thoughts. “Hey, Rubes.” 

“Oh, Emma, this is gonna blow your mind!”

Entertained by her best friend’s excitability and theatrics, Emma has to ask, “What'd you buy?”

“A lot, I got a lot, but that's not it. l wanted to tell you something. Guess who I saw coming out of DePrisco's?”

“Who?”

“Graham!” _That revelation was definitely surprising_.

“You did? When?”

“On the way to meet Victor. The cab was stuck in traffic and I looked over, and he's walking out of the store carrying that little red bag.”

“The bag,” Emma says, in awe and disbelief.

“There's only one reason people go into DePrisco's. You're gonna have a better engagement ring than me, you big jerk!”

“Oh my God!”

“Did you know?”

“No. l mean, l did put his name on the mailing list a couple months ago hoping he'd get the hint, but…”

Ruby’s excitement bubbles over causing her to cut Emma off, as Ruby is practically yelling, “Oh! He got the hint! l think he got the hint!” Emma had to pull the phone away from her ear, trying to retain the ability to hear, once Ruby is done screeching. She almost missed the rest of what her best friend said. “You’re gonna have to work on your surprised face so he doesn’t know that you already know.”

“What’s wrong with my surprised face?”

“Honey, you don’t have a good one, even when you are actually surprised. But the good news is, you have time to practice between now and then.” Ending the call with Ruby, Emma thinks back to her last conversation with Graham this afternoon, after the interview.

_“Have you packed yet? Your flight's at eleven.”  
_

_“I'm fine, just you don't be late. We've got an eight o’clock reservation and they're strict.”  
_

_“When am I ever late?”  
_

_“When your dad comes out of the woodwork demanding to see his daughter, that's when.”  
_

_“l have to go, Graham. l haven't seen him in weeks.”  
_

_“Okay, I just wouldn't want you all riled up for our very special dinner.”  
_

_“You know l don't like surprises.”  
_

_“You'll like this one. See you.”  
_

_Special dinner? Surprises?_ “Holy shit! I’m getting engaged!”

“Engaged?!”

“Dad!?”

“My daughter is getting engaged? It’s about time! You’ve only been together four years, l proposed to your mother after a week! Where is the lucky guy?”

“Packing. He has a cardiology convention in Dublin.”  
  
“It's a good thing that Graham finally came around. You might have had to follow him to Ireland this weekend. It is leap year, you know.”

“Dad, do not tell that story again.”

“Why not?

“It's a family myth.”

“It is the honest-to-God truth! That's what Grandma Ruth did to Grandpa Rob. They'd been dating for a while and he was dragging his feet, so she finally suggested they pay a visit to the old country. February twenty-ninth, Dublin, Ireland, she hits him with it. Boom! Ring on finger, signed, sealed, delivered.”

“Well, I'm not going to have to pull a Grandma Ruth.”

“That's my girl. I'm finally going to get some grandkids.”

Emma gets up from her barstool as she says, “Dad, I've got to go.” 

“No, l just got here!”

“Yeah, well you were late. We said six thirty” 

“Oh!” 

Emma leaves, heading for the door her dad just walked in not five minutes earlier.

* * *

Emma made it to the restaurant just in time to make the eight o’clock reservation Graham had stressed to her this afternoon. Luckily, she had thought ahead knowing how her dad often runs late, and had gotten dressed in a gown that would meet the strict dress code before meeting her father. 

She and Graham have had enough time to eat their appetizers and are waiting for their entrees to arrive when she realizes she can’t contain her thoughts any longer.

“I'm happy that we want the same things.”

Graham gives her a sweet smile before he speaks up. “You know, you always have it figured out for us. l mean, even with my crazy schedule and… you know I appreciate it, right?” He gives her a nervous smile now as he fumbles in his jacket pocket, before pulling out a small black leather box, continuing on. “So… so this is for you.” Graham sets the box down and slides it across the table with the tips of his fingers towards her.

“Graham,” Emma breathes out. 

Seeing that little box on the table before her, it feels like her heart might just come out of her chest and land on the table next to it. Emma steels herself trying to remember to put on a surprised face when she opens it. When she sees what’s inside, she tries to keep her voice positive as she feels rather crestfallen. “They're earrings.” She pastes on a smile, not wanting Graham to think that she doesn’t like the admittedly stunning diamond earrings he got her.

“Yeah.”

“For my ears.”

Graham’s phone rings, and he apologizes as he pulls it from his jacket pocket. “Oh! Sorry. Oh, God.” He gives her an apologetic smile as he answers, “Dr. Humbert. Hey, Victor.” Emma is still reeling from the let down of not having a proposal, and misses Graham’s entire conversation with Victor, until he’s speaking to her again about the new earrings. “Why don't you try them on?”

Emma still feels a bit dazed, but acquiesces to his suggestion. “Oh! Sorry. Sure.”

Graham is still distracted by his phone, texting furiously with who she presumes is Victor again. He barely looks up from his phone as he says, “I'm so sorry, Emma. Victor says l really _aorta_ go in.” Graham turns his phone around so that she can see the pun from Victor with her own eyes, as he continues, “Look, he actually wrote that. He wrote _aorta_. So I'll pick up my bag and just go straight to the airport when I'm done. Forgive me?”

“Of course.” 

“Okay. l am so sorry. l love you.” Graham gets up from his seat, and gives her a brief kiss on the cheek as he quickly makes his way towards the exit.

“l love you. You _aorta_ run.”

After Graham has left, she flags down the waiter to let him know that she will need their food packaged to go, and the bill as soon as possible. Emma is now very eager to head home and into her comfiest pajamas. _Darn Ruby, she got my hopes up for nothing. Now I need some Ben & Jerry’s therapy. _She quickly makes her way out of the restaurant as soon as she has food in hand and the bill is settled.

* * *

Emma finds herself on a plane, having bought a ticket on the first red eye flight she came across with an available seat. She will never admit that it was her father’s ribbing running on loop, and a few ridiculous videos she watched after googling the tradition her dad had mentioned, that finally prompted her to pack a bag and buy her plane ticket.

Emma passes the time during the flight drafting up plans for the apartment that she is certain she and Graham will be getting at The Davenport. She is jarred from her concentration by some turbulence and the pilot coming over the plane wide intercom announcing there will be turbulence for a few minutes.

As the turbulence steadily gets worse, speaking to no one in particular, moreso repeating the mantra to herself, she whispers, “I can’t die, I am getting engaged. I can’t die without getting engaged. I will not die before getting engaged.”

Emma has never been a fan of flying, and the extended turbulence is just driving home why. She is unaware how long the turbulence actually continues on, when she hears the pilot come over the plane wide intercom again. This time he announces, _We have been diverted to Cardiff, Wales, as Dublin Airport has been shut down._

Feet firmly planted on solid ground once again, Emma is fighting her way through the airport to try to get booked onto another flight to the right country. As she’s making her way towards the ticket counter, the airport wide intercom crackles to life.

_Cardiff, Wales Airport regrets to announce that due to inclement weather, all flights today have been canceled._

Emma pushes her way up to the closest ticket counter, before asking, “No more flights today?”

“That’s correct madam.”

At this point she is trying to not sound desperate or manic, but she has to ask. “Are there any other travel options? I really need to get to Dublin. Today.”

“You might try the ferries, but with this weather, I find it unlikely.”

“Well, I’ve got to try something, I’m not going to let this damned weather stop me.” Emma turns away from the ticket counter with a determined stride that she will find a way.

The ferries end up being a bust; not even they are willing to run in this infernal downpour. But Emma won’t let that stop her either, so she goes in search of alternative sources to cross the channel, eventually finding a friendly enough fisherman willing to ferry her across for a price. After getting out in the swell of waves and torrential rain, she’s questioning her sanity, and finally acknowledging that maybe, just _maybe_ the airlines and ferries might have had the right idea, when she hears the captain speak up next to her. 

“We're going to have to go into Dingle.”

“But l paid for Cork!”

“The storms are just too strong in the channel. If we want any hope of making it to land, we’ll have to swing around to the other side.”

“Okay. Dingle will do.”

And now she stands in front of a tiny little pub in the middle of nowhere hoping someone inside will finally be able to help her reach Dublin.

* * *

“You can take the man out of the fish, but you can't take the fish out of the water! That a good un, KJ?” Killian can’t help but roll his eyes at the man slurring and slowly sliding off his stool at the corner of his bar.

Heaving out a put upon sigh, Killian sets down his crossword before looking hard at the man, asking, “Are you drunk Leroy? What am I saying, of course you're drunk-” Hearing the sound of the front doors slamming shut, his head snaps up to see a woman looking more like a drowned rat rather than a human interrupting their banter.

“Hello. Are you open?” He can hear the uncertainty and cold in the slight catch of her voice, as she looks at the four of them around the bar tonight.

Leroy points a finger and slurs out, “Australian.”

Doc’s arm shoots out, righting Leroy on his stool before barking out, “South African.”

The poor lass looks even more confused, and appears to have started shivering slightly, before she points to herself. “Actually, she's American. Emma, from Boston. l just need someone to tell me how to get to Dublin from here. Is there a bus, maybe?”

“Nineteen eighty-seven.”

“I'm sorry?” Killian can see Emma’s confusion deepen on her face at Leroy’s seemingly obscure answer.

“That’s the year the last Dublin bus left Dingle.”

Doc, not one to be left out, wagging a finger says, “No, no, no. The train stopped running in nineteen eighty-seven. The bus stopped running in nineteen eighty-nine.”

Leroy continues his typical bickering back and forth with Doc. “No. It was nineteen eighty-seven. I’m sure of it.”

“Okaaay. Whatever. Is there a taxi service or something?” Killian is trying his hardest to smother his laughter, the poor lass not having realized the can of worms she opened by asking anything of the drunk men around him. But he can tell that the uncertainty of her surroundings is wearing away and frustration is starting to surface, so he reaches under the bar where he keeps business cards. Finding the right one, he hands Emma a card for the taxi company.

“Perfect. Thank you. My battery's going to die any second…”

Clark finally looks up from his pint, speaking up for the first time since the woman walked in. He calls out, “Ma'am,” having only looked up long enough to point towards the payphone Killian has on the far wall of the bar near the front doors, before he dives back into his pint.

“Oh, thank you.” 

Killian manages to slip back into the kitchen without the feisty blonde noticing his movements as she goes for the payphone on the wall. He has to school his features as he goes for the phone before the ringing can be noticed by anyone in the bar, though the guys at the bar already know what’s going on. Clearing his throat one final time, he answers the phone. “Hello.”

_“Hello? Hello. Yes, l need a taxi to Dublin.”_

“Yeah? Where are you calling from?”

_“I'm in a funny little pub called The Nátalas.”_

“I’m sorry, we don't drive American blondes.”

_“What do you mean you don't drive American blondes? How do you know the color of my hair?”_ Finally unable to hold in his laughter, he steps around the corner from the kitchen into the bar, waving the receiver of the phone to let Emma know the game she was just a part of. “Of course. You're the taxi driver. Well, l need you…” As her voice falters slightly with her growing frustration, and no longer needing to keep up the ruse, he reaches back around the corner to hang up the phone. “l need you to drive me to Dublin.”

“Dublin, is it? Hmmm.” He has to collect his thoughts for a second before continuing, “Well, I'll tell you something about Dublin, Emma from _Boston_. Dublin is a city of chancers and cheats and backstabbing snakes. It's where the worst of humanity collects to poison this fair country. l wouldn't drive you to Dublin if you were to offer me five hundred euro.” Having landed that presumed _“blow”_ , Killian bites his lower lip and lifts his eyebrows as he goes to lean back onto the bar, just as Leroy exclaims from his stool off to his right side.

“Jaesus! I'd sell me wife for five hundred!”

Doc looks contemplative as he announces, “Trust me, you'd have few takers.”

With a mask of sheer determination on her face, Emma looks around as she challenges. “All right then. Anyone else want to go to Dublin for five hundred?”

“I'm your man, missus!” Clark tries to stand up for the first time all night, and promptly kisses the floor. 

“Fine. Whatever. It's late.” Emma runs her hands through her seemingly mostly dry hair with jerky movements before continuing, “I'll just find somebody to drive me in the morning. So, if one of you can direct me to the nearest hotel? Or bed and breakfast?” Killian can’t help the smirk that comes to his face at her question. He spots the moment realization hits her, watching as Emma’s shoulders slump in defeat. “Of course. Of course. This is also the hotel.”

Deciding to finally give the poor lass a break, he agrees to rent her a room for the night. Making his way around the bar, he tries to do the gentlemanly thing by grabbing her bag and leading her up the stairs to an available room. As he makes his way down the hall, he gestures with the bag still in his hand. “Bathroom's down the hall. You have to flush it twice. Seriously, twice.”

With his back to her he can’t see the expression on Emma’s face, but he can hear the cynicism clear as day in her retort. “Just like the Four Seasons.”

Finally arriving at the door to the room Emma will be staying in, he turns to look at her saying, “Okay, here we are.” He sets her bag just inside the door, quickly getting out of the way so she can enter and he can escape back down to the bar. Before he can get more than a step away though, he hears her speak up tentatively once more.

“l noticed a menu on the bar?”

He’s trying not to get frustrated with her, knowing that she’s had a helluva night, but Killian still clips out, “It's closed.”

“Closed, of course. But given the famous Irish tradition of hospitality and generosity…” Killian will not admit that her sad pleading look pulls at his hardened heart, but he caves none-the-less.

“I'll do you a hang sandwich.”

“What's a hang? Hang is a verb. It's not a sandwich.”

As he hears her rebuttal after he has already turned and is making his way back towards the kitchen, Killian realizes he might just have some fun with this feisty blonde and her seeming inability to accurately understand his accent. 

Killian makes his way back downstairs checking to make sure none of the guys have destroyed his bar in the search of more booze. Once he ensures everything is good, Killian heads for the kitchen to make a mouth wateringly delicious ham sandwich. He may be a hard hearted bastard, but he still takes pride in his cooking.

As he’s finishing up the assembly of the sandwich with a side of crisps on the plate, he is completely baffled by the banging sounds coming from the second floor above his head before all the lights flicker, going completely out with the distant sounds of a transformer blowing in the distance. With a very put upon groan, he puts all of the ingredients away while hoping the refrigerator will hold the cold until the power comes back on so he won’t lose its entire contents.

Killian had had a bit of fun with the unfortunate American, but it appears that she is now more of a headache than he expected. He quickly grabs the plate of food he’s prepared, lest he forget it, as he goes to figure out what Emma has done now. On his way out of the kitchen, he shoos the older men out into the night on the premise that no more drinks are to be had in the blackness created by the power outage. As he makes his way back to her room, he hears her talking on the other side of the slightly ajar door. As he pushes it open further, he sees that she has absolutely trashed the room and is currently looking at a photo he had long thought he had gotten rid of as she paces.

“The last 24 hours have been the worst of my life. First, my plane was diverted to Cardiff, and then because of the weather, all passenger ferries got cancelled. After finding a fishing boat that was willing to take me to Cork, we had to divert to Dingle in any hopes of just being able to reach the shore.”

As what she’s said registers and he continues to take in the destruction to the room, Killian can’t help but grit out, “For the love of God. What the hell are you doing?”

Apparently seemingly ready for a fight, or just trying to cover her embarrassment, _he’s really not sure which_ , she quips, “Plugging something in.”

Realizing that she’s still holding the framed photo, he snatches it from her hand, thrusting the plate of food at her. “Give me that. It's personal.”

She looks at the food, giving it a slight sniff before she brandishes her phone, sounding frustrated. “Your outlet fried my phone.”

Doing his best not to actually yell at this woman, he fires back, “You fried the whole village! You eejit!”

Finally just done with everything, and ready to call it a night, Killian is glad that he already sent the guys downstairs home before coming up here, so he can get himself a drink and hide out in his own room. As he’s headed out the door, he can hear Emma fire off one last barb.

“Jackass.”

* * *

This morning when he got out of bed, Killian was hoping for a better day than yesterday, but that just isn’t in the cards for him apparently. Here he stands in the front patio area of _The Nátalas_ being read the riot act by Robert Gold. “Sorry, Killian, you've had plenty of time to pay your debt.”

“But I'm almost there. I'm down to the last of the bloody interest. Come on Gold, be reasonable, would you? You can't take the blessed kitchen! You'll put me out of business!”

“I expect the whole lot, or the kitchen goes in the back of the van, Jones. All of it.”

“Give me a month.”

“A month? Don’t be naive; I’ll give you a week.”

“A week? Gods above!” Killian’s trying to do some quick thinking to buy himself as much time as he can, but he knows that Gold is a shrewd bastard, and he’s honestly surprised he’s had as much time as he has. Pulling a Hail Mary, Killian chances another counter. “Ten days, nine hundred euro, guaranteed.”

“A thousand, Jones. That's the whole interest right there.”

“The interest on the interest on the-” Killian had known better than to try and go around making deals with the Devil, but he had gotten desperate and was just trying to hold onto something good in his life. “Ten days, a thousand euro. Okay. Okay. You'll have it. You have my word.”

“Done.” Killian gets the sinking feeling in his gut that he may have just metaphorically sold his soul to the Devil once more, but this time a plan was already forming as to how to get around it.

As he makes his way back into _The Nátalas,_ Killian decides to put his dislike of Dublin aside and offer the five hundred euro ride to Emma, so at the very least he will be that much closer to paying off his debt to Gold. He heads for the kitchen to get some things in order and to give Emma the time to wake up. Having waited until a semi decent hour and not having seen the blonde make her way downstairs, he decides to go to her room. With a quick knock on the door and what he thought was her acknowledgement to come in Killian, opens the door to find Emma standing there in naught but her underwear. Trying to remain a gentleman, he manages to keep his eyes on her face as he says, “Alright then, let's do it, but only because you're desperate. I'll drive you to Dublin.”

He appreciates the speed and dexterity that she employed in grabbing her robe from the bed, in an attempt to regain her modesty as he spoke. He notes that she seems to be in a less than pleasant mood despite his extended olive branch, as she grits out, “Will you get out?”

Just wanting to get an answer so that the day can get a move on and he can leave her to finish getting ready, Killian clarifies. “Five hundred, like you said. Yes or no?”

“You're not a fan of Dublin. You've made that very clear, so l won't inconvenience you.”

“It's not inconvenient at all.”

“What part of _‘get out’_ do you not understand?”

“A simple yes or no will do.” 

“Yes, you can drive me. Now…” Emma shoos him away from where she appears glued to the floor with the hand not holding up her robe. 

Killian goes to make his exit from the room, as he says, “Good. Be outside in ten minutes.” Not a split second after having closed the door, he remembers one more thing he’s forgotten to mention so far. He startles her once more when he pops his head back in the door to let her know. “By the way, it's a hundred for the room, and that includes the vandalism. I'll leave you to it.”

* * *

Killian sees Emma finally making her way out of _The Nátalas,_ so he calls out to her from where he stands, leaning up against the side of his car. “There you are. Come on, hop in.”

“Please tell me that that is the car that is taking us around the corner to the actual taxi.” 

He tries not to take offence to the scathing tone in her voice as she questions his car choice, so he decides to just reply matter of factly. “I'll have you know this is a Renault 4. She's classic!”

“My worst fears are confirmed.”

Now he’s starting to get a little annoyed at the blonde’s negativity, but he’s trying to remain playfully antagonistic. Otherwise, it will be a _very_ long day. “She's rock solid right there! Come on.”

Emma’s voice takes on a bit of a playful tone as well, not quite as scathing as her earlier comments, which he takes as a good sign when she says, “None of those fancy airbags to get in the way then.”

She’s standing at the back of the car looking at him expectantly as she asks, “Do you mind?” gesturing towards her suitcase.

“Ah! Sure. Where are my manners?”

“Thank you.” 

At least her thanks sounds genuine to his ears as he turns his sights on the too complicated contraption that is the handle to her bag. “How the bloody hell does that work?” With no other guesses after giving it a brief once over, he picks the bag up off the ground and brings it back down with a thud hoping the jolt will get the handle to retract. 

Emma peeks back in his direction as she’s walking towards the passenger side door as she asks, “Can you be careful with that? That was a gift from my boyfriend.”

“He bought you a suitcase?” Killian can’t help thinking sardonically, _What kind of man gifts a woman a suitcase?_

“It's a Vuitton.”

“A what?”

“A Louis Vuitton?”

“Come on now.” With no other response coming from Emma, Killian looks back at the bag still clutched in his hand, and speaks to it instead. “Is it yourself, Louie? Can l give you a hand getting into the car, Louie? She named her suitcase. She's a crackpot.” _What have I gotten myself into here? I may be stuck in the car with a certifiable head case for the next several hours; at least I’ll be getting paid for it._

As Killian is fighting with Louie, he vaguely overhears Leroy spouting off some of his usual nonsense about luck and superstitions. Finally managing to get the bag in the boot, he stands back upright just in time to hear Emma rebuff Leroy and Doc’s nonsensical ramblings.

“Then l guess it's a good thing l don't believe in luck, so…”

Leroy calls out, “Well, you ought to, if you're getting into that.”

Doc bids them farewell with, “Have a safe journey, may the road rise up to meet you.”

Killian calls out to Doc and Leroy as he climbs into the car himself to get this journey on the way, “See you, lads!”

* * *

Both men call out, “Good luck, Killian!”

Speaking to Doc next to him while they continue waving their friend and the blonde American off on their journey, Leroy says, “l tell you something, they'll kill each other!”


End file.
